


Birdcall

by triptocaine



Category: Left 4 Dead (Video Games)
Genre: Ellis dealing with the loss, Ellis trying to cope with the loss of his friends, Everyone dies except Ellis, Sad Ellis, Suicidal Thoughts, Vague Mentions of Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-18 03:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11282763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triptocaine/pseuds/triptocaine
Summary: Ellis is the last one.





	Birdcall

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a sad because I was sad, and this is the outcome of it. I was honestly scared of posting this. Still not sure if I should have.

First it was Nick, who died in his arms before he could get the first aid kit to him. He sobbed over his body and was pulled away by Coach and Rochelle as the hoard came after them. He cried out, trying to reach for his lifeless body, desperately clawing at the saferoom door, trying to get back. Rochelle held him as he had to watch Coach block it off with boxes and tables. Ellis didn’t sleep that night as he cried into his knees.

Then it was Coach, caught off guard and away from them, pulled so far down by a Smoker that they couldn’t get to him unless they wanted to break their legs. Ellis screamed down, trying to find something he could use to go down. But by the time the smoke cleared after Rochelle killed it, Coach laid crooked and unmoving, arm and legs broken into terrible angles. Rochelle held Ellis close that night as he gripped a gun tightly in his hand, wanting to end it.

Rochelle was next. They were mere seconds from getting out of the flooded town, nothing in their hands except Ellis’s axe and Rochelle’s machete. No ammo, no painkillers, no med kits. They could see the boat. They could hear the Tank. But by the time they saw it, Rochelle had been pushed aside and thrown into the ground.

“Just run Ellis! RUN!” She cried out, desperately swinging her machete at the beast.

“I can run back! Get some ammo—Rochelle—“ he pleaded, he begged. He couldn’t lose her too.

“ _RUN!_ ”

He could see the final smile on her face as he limped towards the boat. He watched as the Tank threw her again, and she couldn’t smile any more.

The moment Ellis stepped onto the boat, they left.

The rain hit against his face like needles as he couldn’t stop the uncontrollable sobs escaping from him as he curled up on the bed of the boat, trying to breathe, trying to see. Wishing he was the first to go.

Finally, there was Ellis. Alone as he stepped off the boat and looked down the street. They were all meant to make it this far, weren’t they? Yet, here Ellis stood. Alone and tired, without his friends. Without his family.

“I ever tell you ‘bout that one time me and my Momma tried to plan a trip to come over to New Orleans and I—“ Ellis turned, expecting to be interrupted and was met with the wind. His voice caught in his throat, and his breath, and he choked back the tears.

“They ain’t commin’ back El,” he chose the nickname that Rochelle called him more often than not. “Talkin’ to ghosts over here.”

He grabbed a med kit and cleared his throat.

“What do you mean ghosts, kid?” he tried to mimic Nick, getting his city accent in and standing a little straighter, fixing his collar. “You think you’re going to fight ghosts?”

“Well hell no!” back to himself. “Y’can’t shoot ghosts with bullets!”

“No, sweetie,” his voice went soft, cracking at the memory of Rochelle’s smile. “I think that the zombies are enough, we don’t need to be fighting ghosts.”

“Ghosts would have made that Midnight Rider Concert fight so cool!” he puffed his chest out to try and look as big as Couch sounded. “With the music and the fireworks! Aw man! Would have been great!”

“Y’all are the best—“ Ellis stopped himself and leaned against the wall as he tilted his hat to cover his face. “Y’all are the b-best family I’ve known durin’ this here apocalypse.”

Ellis continued his way alone, learning to be stealthier and use bombs to his advantage to get away from overwhelming hoards. He started to keep a better ear out for things that could knock him out faster than he’d be able to fight them off. He held onto those epi-pens of adrenaline and shot himself in the thigh to quickly escape Tanks and other larger hoards. He couldn’t afford to fight them. He didn’t have the ammo. He didn’t have the willpower.

The nights alone in the safe rooms were spent leaning against a wall with a gun in one hand and pills in the other.

“Caw-caw!” he called out when it was particularly empty of zombies (a rare sight). “Caw-caw! Caw-caw!”

He was hoping maybe he would hear Coach yelling it back to him. He was hoping he would hear Rochelle calling out to him from a floor above, banging on a locked door. Maybe even Nick would shout out to him, as annoyed as he might have been, he was sure Nick enjoyed his company.

“Caw!” he tried again, throat having gone dry.

When the bridge went down to get to the helicopter, Ellis never stopped running. He never looked back. Even when his tears blurred his vision, he swung his axe around to get any zombies out of his way. He ran faster when he heard any specials. Once he saw the helicopter, he pushed his limits to run even faster.

The moment he stepped into the helicopter alone, the ramp was closed and they took off.

“Guys! Guys we did it! We made it—“

He was met with the wind.


End file.
